


A Brief Blindness

by cowgirldressage1



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Slash, Star Trek: TOS, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-30
Updated: 2012-07-30
Packaged: 2017-11-11 02:14:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowgirldressage1/pseuds/cowgirldressage1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the TOS episode Operation Annihilate, this deals with the aftermath of Spock's blindness, specifically the lengths Kirk and Spock would go when faced with tragedy.  The story is full of angst but ends well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Brief Blindness

I declare under penalty of perjury the forgoing is true and correct: Paramount owns everything about the Star Trek franchise, including any of my weak forays into fan fiction. I get nothing other than personal satisfaction out of this.

Based on Operation Annihilate

A Brief Blindness

“None so blind as those that will not see.”  
Matthew Henry (1662-1714)    
English Presbyterian minister and writer

Spock closed his eyes to the endless pain, hoping the light would free him from the parasites’ grasping hold on his tenuous control.  
He felt the heat first, warm against his skin. As the light washed over him there was a brief flash, then nothing. He quickly closed his eyes to the bright stabbing pain in his head.

The heat dissipated slowly and he heard the machinery winding down. His eyes remained closed until he sensed movement outside the chamber. 

He opened his eyes, focusing straight ahead and saw nothing. His mind tried to make sense of the endless blackness, but couldn’t discern shapes or colors. Intellectually, he understood he was blind. 

“Spock, are you all right?” Jim’s voice was tight with worry.

“The creature within me is gone. I am free of it, and the pain.”

His eyes didn’t stop trying to see, disorienting him, causing him to stumble as he walked into the table in Sickbay.

“I am also quite blind. An equitable trade Doctor. Thank you. “

No more pain curling around him, pressing him harder and harder while the voices demanded action and escape. No more pitying glances from the Doctor trying to assess the degree of pain. No more watching his friend and Captain observe him with ill contained grief and calculation as to when the pain would break him. This and the memory of pain made him curiously grateful for his blindness.

He felt a strong hands wrap around his arms steadying him and helping him into a chair that spun slightly when he sat. He couldn’t see the Doctor pull the Captain away.

“Doctor, the results of the first creature’s remains . . .” Another voice, Nurse Chapel with the creature’s necropsy. 

Doctor McCoy breathed, “Oh no.”

“What is it?” Jim asked, fear banked in his voice.

“I threw the entire spectrum of light at the creature, it wasn’t necessary. I didn’t stop and think only one kind of light would kill it.” He could hear the guilt and frustration in McCoy’s voice.

A pause and Spock’s ability to analyze came on line. “Interesting, just as dogs are sensitive to certain kinds of sounds that humans cannot hear, these creatures are sensitive to light we cannot see.”

“You are telling me that Spock need not have been blinded?”

“I didn’t need to throw the blinding white light at all, Jim. Spock I . . .”

Reasonably, Spock tried to qualify McCoy’s confession. “Doctor, it was my selection as well. It is done.”

He heard regret and grief in those voices as they washed over him.

“Bones . . . Take care of him,” Jim’s voice was quiet and furious.

 

Eventually they released him, a silent Dr. McCoy walking him to his quarters, alone finally, to meditate. 

It was early evening. The corridors were quiet. Spock knew from long experience that Alpha Shift was over and most crewmembers, including Captain Kirk, were probably in the Mess. 

Spock’s room failed to comfort him, just barely granting him relief from the cold dry air of the Enterprise’s common areas. He did not need to see to know where objects were. He reflexively moved toward his fire pot before he realized the flame would be indiscernible to him. He wondered briefly if the heat would hold his focus instead of the light. He knelt on the low cushioned platform and began taking himself through levels of consciousness he had learned as a child.

After much time, he reached several conclusions.

It is illogical to remain where one has no utility.

It is illogical to regret a solution that is fundamentally better than the problem.

It is illogical to grieve for what could have been.

He had always thought he would have more time. Now, of course, he had no options, no time. He would return to Vulcan and find a way to live, no, exist. 

Hopelessness could not be kept at bay. There could be no real life without Jim and the Enterprise. 

He felt despair and fought it with little success. Every thought and memory led to a dead end. There was nothing left here. Truly, he asked himself, what was left to him even on Vulcan?

He knew his thoughts, and yes, emotions, were disgraceful. If the roles were reversed, he could give up his commission and grant Jim a life and a purpose. He knew, of course, that Jim would never do the same. His ties to his life and career were too strong to abandon them for his First Officer, his friend. They were friends, comrades, and nothing more. Friendship to a human was a strong tether. To a Vulcan, it was far rarer and precious.

In the darkness, Spock examined his own emotions for the first time since the mission began. There was no logic in denying them in this room, surrounded by the tatters of his career. Friendship was the right word but the emotion attached to it was far stronger than what he suspected his Captain felt. Jim was part of him. Jim’s very existence was calculated and reflected back into emotions so complex and foreign, that Spock could barely categorize them. 

He was done. He had no reserves left. The days of pain had worn him down. When life became superfluous, there were ancient techniques to release the katra, sparing those tied closely the pain of becoming part of a dark, downward spiral. Deeper and deeper into his consciousness was the ability to shut down his autonomic systems, to cease to breathe, to stop his heart, release his mind. His exhaustion was almost too great to reach this level. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind was a flicker of doubt; this decision should be made when he was fully capable, not worn down with exhaustion and despair. Angrily, he burned that thought to ashes. He had lost enough. He could take control of this one thing left to him.

He traveled deep into his own mind. The blackness was no longer in front of his eyes but on its edges. He felt his heart begin to slow and his breath became shallow. Peacefulness and anger sat side by side, warring with each other.

As his mind assessed both emotions, he heard the swish of his cabin door. Too late, there could be no rescue. But, against his will, his mind stopped its descent and began to rise.

Strong hands gripped his shoulders as they had earlier in sickbay. They shook him gently and then more roughly. Finally, he began to register a voice.

“Spock! Spock! Where the hell are you?” The voice was desperate.

He felt himself pulled off of his knees and pushed backward until he was sitting on the edge of his bunk. Jim. Jim was shaking him and calling his name.

He wearily opened his eyes and could not see. Using his limited imagination, he saw Jim’s face. It was mere fantasy; Jim’s worried eyes, soft with affection. Foolish mind to play such tricks. Still, why was Jim here? How did he know?

Face to face with Spock’s silence and wholly unguarded expression, Jim spoke to him urgently.

“I felt you slipping away. I was sitting at my desk and I felt it! Don’t lie to me Mister, what the hell were you doing?”

A million explanations rushed through his mind and he rejected all of them. There were no words to explain what he had lost or how he felt. He desperately wanted Jim to understand, so he did the one thing he knew Jim, the expert in emotion, would understand.

Jim had knelt next to his bunk, so he raised his right hand and traced Jim’s arm to his face. His fingers sought Jim’s temple, smooth and moist from the heat in his room. His fingers touched his ear briefly and traveled the hairline. Then, he waited for permission to proceed.

Jim’s voice cracked with emotion, “Okay. Spock. Okay.”

The first two fingers of his hand brushed Jim’s temple, then pressed gently. No words passed in the shallow meld, just memories and impressions. These were moments in time, where Jim saw expressions sweeping across his own face; one minute closed, another open with tenderness, pride, gleeful astonishment, joy, grief. 

Spock read Jim’s surprise at how carefully he had been categorized. He felt Jim’s wonder and pleasure at the emotions he didn’t know Spock possessed. 

Now, Spock took a deep breath and slowly unfurled his emotions. Jim felt tendrils of sadness, despair and overwhelming hopelessness flowing over and around him. It was devastating. At the center of it was not  
Spock’s loss of sight, but his grief over losing Jim and the life Spock believed he had built. 

It was too much. Jim pulled away from Spock’s hand and looked into his eyes. He still felt Spock’s emotions slightly, his hurt and pain, like an echo. Jim realized that Spock’s controls were all but gone.

And why wouldn’t they be after all he had been through? Jim looked at his friend, cataloging the planes of his face, his mouth pressed tightly in a line, his jaw tense and his eyes filled with regret.

Jim considered the action that he knew would have far reaching consequences for both of them. He could accept what his friend was implicitly offering or reject his powerful emotions that threatened to swamp both of them.

No one ever said James T. Kirk lacked courage or hubris. It took both to take Spock’s face in both of his hands and bring their foreheads together. He suspected Spock didn’t truly understand the gesture but took the chance. After a moment, he felt Spock relax slightly and brushed his cheek with his. Turning his head, he let his lips brush Spock’s forehead, cheek and then the corner of his mouth.

Perhaps it was instinct, perhaps it was logic, but Spock awkwardly brought both hands up to cradle Jim’s face and pulled him into a gentle kiss. The kiss was chaste, innocent even, but filled with love and affection. Jim smiled against Spock’s lips. He loved him dearly. They would figure this out.

Jim pulled back, moving warm hands to Spock’s shoulders and carefully pushed him onto the bed. It took but a moment to remove Spock’s boots, find the blanket at the bottom of the bed and pull it over his friend.

“Rest. I’m here. I won’t leave.”

A peaceful lassitude crept over Spock. He couldn’t fight his exhaustion one minute more. This time, when darkness swept over his mind, it sent him to sleep. His last thought was that Jim would be there when he awoke. He didn’t have the energy to analyze it. He just accepted that perhaps things between them were different.

Some time later, McCoy found Spock in his unlocked room, lying motionless on his side facing the door of the bathroom he shared with his Captain. In the half light, sitting in a chair beside his bed was Jim, legs spread in front of him, elbows on the arm rests of the chair, head thrown back in sleep.

McCoy’s heart almost stopped. 

Then the figure on the bed moved, coming up on his elbow and looked straight at McCoy. Worried dark eyes blinked at the low light. An eyebrow lifted and recognition dawned. Spock couldn’t see the Doctor clearly but he could see something. It seemed his vision had been restored by a little known quirk of Vulcan biology.

McCoy would never speak of his suspicion of what Spock would have done had Jim not found him that evening. He had heard stories of Vulcans willing themselves into death and could easily imagine the logic of such an act to one who had always put so little value on his own life. If later, he noticed that Spock was less reserved with Jim and Jim reached out to Spock more and more, he drew no hard conclusions. 

Doctor McCoy proudly stood with them at their bonding ceremony eight years later under blazing sunlight, dry winds and the delicate sound of bells as background music. He never knew exactly what had caused them to truly see each other for the first time; he knew only that Spock’s temporary blindness had opened their eyes to the possibilities.

**Author's Note:**

> I am new to this site. Please let me know what you think of this story. It is rewritten and formerly known as Out of Sight.


End file.
